


Ultrasound My Heart

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Cute Sam, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Light Angst, M/M, Nervous Dean, Pregnancy, Pregnant Jessica, Sam is Seventeen Years Old, Supportive Dean, Teen Pregnancy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy, ultrasound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Dean can hire a director and an ensemble to play the three of them in the hottest romcom of the season, in walks the ultrasound technician. The guy’s brunette hair is as hung as the stethoscope around his neck. He’s tall, built like an aspiring Olympic athlete, and to make things literally harder on Dean, his eyes match the material of his royal blue scrubs.</p><p>And, okay, apparently there’s a pearly white and gummy smile that crosses his square and lightly stubble jaw when he catches sight of not Jess, not Sam, but Dean. “You must be a medical miracle.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ultrasound My Heart

"That's the fifth call today from the Catholic Church," Jess announces, slotting the landline into the receiver again, "you'd think I'm the Virgin Mary."

"Hey, give my brother _some_ credit."

Jess scoffs, blonde, pigtailed hair swaying like spaghetti in a boiling pot, "How did they even get my number?"

"The same way telemarketers do."

"Thank you for doing this, Dean."

Dean peers up from his paper stacking, unfazed. "It’s my niece or nephew, give _me_ some credit."

Jess’s fingers twist into a beige pretzel. She’s looking anywhere but across the living room and into Dean’s green eyes. "I’m sorry; I don’t mean to put you in an imposition—”

"Jess, my genes, my brother’s, they don’t make decisions for you, alright?” he says, palms spread on the table. There’s no tenacity to his tone, but his words have teeth. “It’s your choice as much it was deciding whether or not you wanted a little leech sucking on your innards.”

Jess’s face wrinkles like a new shirt. "I'm pretty sure that's not how it works, Dean."

"You sure?" Dean asks, "Because I read somewhere that—"

"Wait, you _read_?"

It takes two fleeting blinks from Dean for Jess to crack a smile. "I'll tell you one thing,” he retorts, “That baby’s not gonna need much pushing. Between the two of you, it'll _sass_ its way out."

***

"Dean, this is the _third_ message I've left, quit making out with a cheeseburger and get your ass down—"

Dean watches Sam round the corner of the hospital room like a deer—no, a _moose—_ caught in the headlights. He could drop his hot shit phone in his mouth if he wanted to. "Heya, little brother.”

Sam still stands in the threshold, guarding his little-existing manhood. "What? How did you—? I just called Benny; he said you were at Biggerson's—"

"He covered for me, alright?" Dean supplies, clicking his heels on the side of the checkup bed, “You know, the way brothers in arms do when they’re trying to spare the other’s hide.”

"What do you mean? Why—?" His head snaps to Jess and his eyes turn into two chocolate Dum-Dums. “Babe? I was waiting for you outside your house, you weren’t picking up. I thought—”

"Dean drove me.”

“What?” Sam’s legs make a denim-clad teeter-totter as he bends to her resting level, eyes oozing chocolate. "Why, Honeybee, what's wrong?" he implores, draping his hand over her much smaller one.

Dean bites back the urge to grab a tongue depressor.

He can’t see Jess, but she sounds as sad as the time Dean found out the Gas n’ Sip stopped selling those DUI microwavable pies, "I didn't want you to come,” she says, something akin to a whimper escaping her lips, “I didn't want you to get worked up about the baby if I decide to..."

“Babe, babe, listen to me,” Sam urges, hands finding her heart-shaped face. “ _We,_ alright? You are not alone in this, okay? We will figure this out together, like we have for the past seven months. But right here, right now, _you_ deserve to know the gender of this little waternut kicking inside you.”

Dean hides his grin in the collar of his purple flannel. He’s never been more proud to have raised his little brother—even if he is a moose. “He’s right, you know,” he says to Jess, failing at the former.

Before Dean can hire a director and an ensemble to play the three of them in the hottest romcom of the season, in walks the ultrasound technician. The guy’s brunette hair is as hung as the stethoscope around his neck. He’s tall, built like an aspiring Olympic athlete, and to make things _literally_ harder on Dean, his eyes match the material of his royal blue scrubs.

And, okay, apparently there’s a pearly white and gummy smile that crosses his square and lightly stubble jaw when he catches sight of not Jess, not Sam, but _Dean._ “You must be a medical miracle.”

A temporary rash breaks out on Dean’s nape before he realizes he’s still sitting on the checkup table. “Oh yeah, my bad,” he replies, slinking off the horizontal podium. He’s also got a tenor sax built into his throat. Dean can only imagine how he sounds when someone’s blowing his reed—

Sam harrumphs from what sounds like miles away, “It’s our appointment. Sam Winchester, this is my girlfriend, Jess.”

The technician’s smile doesn’t falter as he strides toward Sam and Jess, hand outstretched. “Castiel Novak. Now _you_ on the other hand,” Castiel says, head angled toward Jess, “look like you’re expecting, you’re positively glowing.”

Jess flushes. “Thank you, Mr. Novak.”

“Please, call me Cas,” he replies as he sets up the machine. “My mother calls me once a week; I’d like to keep it that way.” For no reason other than to torture a decent man, Cas turns in Dean’s direction saying that. Dean’ll probably have to stop at the store and grab a pregnancy test on the way home; his face is a glowing like a red Christmas light. “So, Jess, is this your first child?”

Jess laughs as she hobbles to the table, “Cas, my parents would call you a pure soul. We’re Christians, so this shouldn’t even be my first child.”

“You’re Christians, or _they’re_ Christians?” Dean mumbles.

Sam shoots him daggers that’re basically butter knives to Dean at this point. “ _Dean.”_

“He’s right, Sweetsicle,” Jess responds, rolling her shirt up before Cas applies the gel. Dean rolls his eyes. “If we’re gonna raise this baby, it has in an unbiased environment. We can’t have her growing up, thinking she’s the byproduct of some—some impulsive small town who—”

Sam has to refrain from jumping out of his seat. “Hold up, you said _she.”_

Jess hides behind her hair. “I just have a feeling it’s a girl.”

Dimples surface on Sam’s cheeks. He looks like a little kid standing in an ice rink during a teddy bear toss. “And were you serious when you said, you know, about—?”

Sam’s inquiry is cut short by the shyer smile gracing Cas’s face. The couple turn to the screen, then back at each other in tandem. Then after not two, but three bated breaths, Cas states, “It’s a girl.”

***

Dean leaves Sam and Jess to shower each other in tears, but not long enough to have twins. As much as he’d love to have two of his little brother’s snot-nosed spawns running around his two-bedroom apartment, his wallet adamantly screams no.

He’s always hated hospitals. Between the smell of latex, scented lotion and the eerie up and down screeching of gurneys, it’s enough to turn anyone without a weird fetish off. But today’s given him a reason to like them. And in seven months, he’ll like them even more.

As that thought flickers on the forefront of his mind a little girl, no older than six or seven, twirls down the hall like the teacups at Disneyland in pointe shoes and a purple tutu. The parents are more slothful behind her, but they hold hands and clap when she finalizes her spins.

Dean grins. Grey plaits into the mother’s long, wavy hair, but the blonde still shines through. The father’s is no different, only his hair is darker and grazes his shoulders.

“Congratulations.”

Dean snaps like a rubber band out of his musing. Cas stands beside him, smelling of… well, _latex and scented lotion_ (or in this case, lube) _._ His smile’s shrunken since he last saw him, but Dean knows well enough paperwork can do that to anyone. Besides, even with his smile at half-mass, Cas still looks damn gorgeous.

He gestures to Cas’s patient’s room. “Think you should be saying that to them.”

“You’re going to be an uncle, though, correct?” Cas asks, brows furrowed. Dean’s do the same. “I’ve been doing this long enough to skip patient files and go straight to body language. You and Sam are very fraternal.”

Saving the long-story-short speech, Dean laughs and says, “Yeah, we’re brothers.”

“So congratulations,” Cas reiterates. Dean makes the mistake of looking at him because Cas’s smile is back at full caliber and ready to shoot anyone within a few feet radius.

Abstractedly, Dean gives in and replies, “Thanks.”

“I’m an uncle myself.” Cas’s eyes glaze over with affection—something Dean hopes to see reflect in his own soon. “Claire, she’s turning seven in April. I remember attending her ultrasound like it was yesterday. I was around the same age as your brother, 17 or 18. Scared, apprehensive, lacking faith in who I was supposed to become.” Cas pauses, facing Dean with a kink in his smile. “Then a year or two down the road I realized: I’m not _supposed_ to magically transform into someone else. I’m just supposed to be _there_ for her.”

Dean kicks his foot on the linoleum, biting back a grin. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

“Well I don’t _save_ lives, but I do confirm them,” Cas rejoins with a wink.

And that line’s so cheesy and underplayed; Dean has to hear it a dozen more times over cheeseburgers. So he does. And after the thirteenth time, Dean sucks the words out of his mouth.

Sam and Jess give birth to a healthy baby girl at 12:05am, November 2, 2016—the 17th anniversary of the Winchester’s mother’s death. So, instead of sulking on the date like years past, they celebrate the life of two strong, independent women named Mary.

And young Mary needn’t fret, because by her first birthday, she has not one, but _two_ great uncles.


End file.
